Sadness flies on the wings of the morning, and out of the heart of darkness comes the light. - Giraudoux

I remember a time when a cabbage could sell itself by being a cabbage. Nowadays it’s no good being a cabbage – unless you have an agent and pay him a commission. Nothing is free anymore to sell itself or give itself away. These days, Countess, every cabbage has its pimp.

This woman could call upon the earth and the heavens to do her bidding. But she gave up her power to be human. Write this into your record, Judge — this Ondine was the most human human being that ever lived. She was human by choice.

v. It would be very odd if two poets were killed in the same way...

May on Lake Asquam, by Jean Giraudoux